Desperate Times
by ArgentNoelle
Summary: Everyone needs to eat. But when one's eternal master seems to have forgotten that fact, and one has too much pride to bring it up, what can one do? / In which Sebastian tries to figure out what's happened to his life, makes a deal of his own, and... goes on holiday. [post s2] PART 4 of "How Not To Spend Eternity"
1. Desperate Measures

This is the fourth story in "How Not to Spend Eternity", in which Sebastian and Ciel deal with the aftermath of season 2 (or not).

1&2 "Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep" and "The Contract" (posted together); 3 "Puer Aeternus"

This story takes place during the events of "Puer Aeternus" but follows Sebastian's storyline; it should be pretty easy to follow even if you haven't read the other stories :)

warnings will appear BELOW each chapter, if there are any; I'll make a note of it above the chapter so you can scroll down if you want to read them :)

Chapter warnings/pairings at end of chapter

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 _ **1/ Desperate Measures**_

* * *

 _Then: sometime in the 1920s_

"My _my_ , dear sweet Bassy." That so-unfortunately familiar voice had every inch the guttural dangerousness of Grell in a playful mood (or murderous; with Grell, those two things had rather the tendency to overlap). "I never thought I'd see _you_ again."

Though he would have loved to make an answer, Sebastian was too occupied, at the moment, with pulling that sticky-sweet soul from the rapidly-cooling body of the prostitute in the alley. Snatching souls was degrading, humiliating, and tasted like… well, he couldn't describe it any way except vile, but he had become too hungry in these past years to put it off any longer. But he'd put some thought into the matter of how. Grell might try to kill him, but he was unpredictable, liable to change moods on a whim—unlike any other reaper he might run into—and this was his territory. And Sebastian knew the reaper had no love for these kinds of women; the previous half of Jack-the-Ripper would hardly have killed them otherwise.

Grell stepped forward, death scythe outstretched—not toward Sebastian, but to that soul still twisting in his grasp (unruly things, uncontracted souls; they tried everything they could to get away). Sebastian, still crouched beside the body, bared his teeth with a warning growl, his eyes flashing red.

"Poor thing, you're looking ravenous," Grell said, with a shark-toothed smile, as Sebastian pulled the soul toward his mouth. All it took was one swipe with the death-scythe, the reaper closer than he had been a second ago, and the reels of the cinematic record started to float upward, surrounding them.

"Had an abortion two months ago," Grell said quietly, as he stared through his reaper's spectacles at the life that flashed by. "Died in an alley, killed by a demon. Are you trying to make me nostalgic, Bassy?"

"What's the one soul?" Sebastian said, his clawed hand reaching toward the bright spark. "You know I can't make another contract now."

"Yes, I _heard_ about that," Grell said, suddenly grinning again, taking obvious pleasure in the demon's misfortune. "I got a card too, and a place setting for tea—thank you for that, by the way. But what about the brat? He hasn't been taking care of his pet very well, if it's skulking around, trying to snatch meals from back alleys. Hasn't he fed you?"

Sebastian gritted his teeth. No. Worse than the humiliation of snatching a soul was snatching a soul in the presence of _Grell_. "As you can very well see, he hasn't," Sebastian managed to say, at last, glowering.

"And you want me to take pity on you," Grell said. "Bassy, Bassy dear, who do you think you're dealing with? I don't _do_ pity."

"But you'd like to do me, wouldn't you?" Sebastian said, wrenching his gaze away from the soul and trying to pay attention to the greater threat. "Consider it a deal. This soul, for one night."

"Taking up a new career, are you?" Grell said, letting his death-scythe fall away from the spark that he now held in his hand. He stepped forward, taking a slow path, in his red heels, to stand behind Sebastian's back. Sebastian forced himself not to move. "What if I told you you were boring me, darling? I really hate to be bored," he continued, leaning close over Sebastian's neck, as he held that soul just in front of his mouth—close enough to reach if he lunged, and he might very well injure the reaper into the bargain; but to do that would be to mark himself as a rogue and wanted creature, to be chased after by any reaper who fancied the challenge, and Grell knew it. It took everything in him, in that moment, not to move, when that soul was so very close, and he was so… very… hungry. "And I hate whores."

Sebastian licked his lips. He stared at that bright spark, and the last bit of his rationality began to flicker. If I eat it, he thought, I won't be hungry. Damn the consequences. He'd had more than enough of those.

"But I'll make an exception for you," Grell said at last. He brought the soul closer to Sebastian's mouth, and Sebastian caught it between his teeth, swallowing down the brightness and letting it squirm its way down his throat. He gasped, and if he was not already on his knees he would have fallen. When he came back to himself, feeling sated and more like himself since he had felt since this whole horrid business began, he could feel Grell petting his hair. He flinched, and Grell dug his nails deep into Sebastian's scalp.

"Now, is that any way to treat me, after the gift I've given you?" Grell said. "I rather think I deserve a thank you. Don't you?" He let go of Sebastian, and at last, Sebastian could rise, and he dusted himself off, less to get off any dust than to get rid of the creeping feeling that had settled over his skin. It was then that he took note of Grell's appearance for the first time.

"You cut your hair," he said, blankly.

"You noticed!" Grell squealed, hugging himself and bouncing like a teenage girl. Sebastian sighed. It would have been rather hard _not_ to notice, when his hair had previously reached his knees, and now it was cropped just below his ears. But the admission had broken Grell's dangerous mood, and now he treated Sebastian like an old friend, chattering about work and asking what he'd been up to (nothing, really) as he lead them through a very uncomfortable patch of air that didn't seem to sit quite _on_ straight. A moment later, they were standing in front of a tall apartment, covered with windows that reflected a noonday sun—interesting, since it had been late evening a mere second ago. Sebastian couldn't help stumbling just a bit at the disorientation, and Grell used the opportunity to take his arm as he lead them into a lift and took out his keys. This must be where reapers lived, Sebastian thought, with incredible curiosity. He wished he could take even a peek somewhere else, but Grell hurried them through the door and shut it loudly behind them, before pressing a button near the doorframe. The windows suddenly became darker, and Sebastian stepped back in some alarm. This wasn't any kind of magic, but something else entirely.

"Don't worry about the windows, dear, I just turned the tinting on so no one can look in on us," Grell called out as he walked into another attached room. "I'm going to put on something more comfortable!"

Sebastian dreaded what _that_ would be, but found a space on a brown-and-white couch and perched awkwardly on the edge. Every wall of the place was red, a quite headache-inducing arrangement, but other than that the sense of style was tolerable. There was a low round coffee table with a glass top, and a collection of thin, plastic-lined cases that Sebastian at first took to be very odd books, before he realized they held movies. Of course Grell would be the type to watch movies, though how one was supposed to watch it in one's home was the real question.

"All right!" Grell trilled, stepping back into the room. It was at least better than it could have been; Sebastian had been picturing some hideous negligee, but Grell was instead wearing a short skinny dress in the flapper style. Now the hair made sense; Grell would keep up with women's trends, especially those women known for their outrageous and over-the-top behaviour. "Now, we have two options," the reaper explained. "We can stay here the whole night… I'm _sure_ you can entertain me," he continued, "or…"

A buzzing sound came from near the door, and Grell rushed over to it, opening it with a loud squeal. "Ronnie! Guess who's over?"

"I don't know, Mr. Sutcliff, who?" Ronald Knox. Oh joy. He'd already been feeling out of sorts, and now that infuriating boy would come along, that half-flirtatious maniac who would abandon a fight half-way through just because something better came along. No, he wasn't holding a grudge.

"Se-bas-tian!" Grell said, flinging the door open as he tugged Ronald inside. Unlike Grell, this reaper looked just as Sebastian remembered him, having not changed his fashion at all; he ground to a halt as he entered the door and stared at Sebastian with incredulity.

Sebastian was having some trouble believing this situation himself, if he was to be perfectly honest.

"Hello," he said at last, lamely.

"Uh, Mr. Sutcliff," Ronald said, "what's going on?"

"What's going on?" Grell shrieked, waving his hands in Ronald's face. "What's going on? _Sebastian's_ here, that's what's going on, and we're going on a date."

"Is that true?" Ronald asked, giving him a look of some sympathy, as though he suspected Grell may have drugged him, tied him up and kidnapped him.

"Unfortunately," Sebastian said heavily.

"Huh," Ronald said. He scratched his head, then shrugged. "Well, in that case… are you guys coming to the party, Mr. Sutcliff?"

"I wouldn't miss it!" Grell said. "Come, Sebastian," he said imperatorily, gesturing widely for Sebastian to follow.

That was how Sebastian found himself in a reapers party, and if he'd thought the whole lot of them were uptight and obsessed with business before (with the exception of Grell) that misconception was soon dashed. He'd just never seen them after work hours.

There was colorful, strobing lights aimed at the floor that whirled hypnotically in the darkened room, while masses of reapers, some with their death scythes still in hand (he winced, wondering if there were ever any accidents), danced about the room—if one could call what they were doing _dancing_. It seemed to involve much more groping than actual dancing, but who was Sebastian to judge? He was only the call girl here. As soon as they entered the crowd, with its music up at levels that would have rendered any human instantly deaf, Ronald slipped away, though not before waving brightly and mouthing, "bye Bassy—have a great time!" (he was going to kill that boy) and Grell—thankfully without feeling the need to wave his chainsaw around—was dragging him onto the dancefloor. It didn't take much time to figure out the moves. Every so often Grell would call out to some other reaper—men and women seemed to be equally distributed at this party—and at some point they had found themselves out of that pressing mass and to the edge of the room, where the actions would rival any petting party Grell's human counterparts involved themselves in these days.

Grell dragged him past that with hardly a glance, pulling him out and into an empty back stairwell. The silence, when the door shut behind them, made Sebastian let out a sigh of relief; it felt like he could think again.

"Come on, Sebastian!" Grell called, already halfway up the stairs, and Sebastian followed, not without some curiosity. The second floor turned out to be in possession of private rooms, and there Sebastian found himself unsurprised to find that at last they were to get down to the principle business of the night, so to speak.

It didn't take much to please Grell, but that wasn't going to stop Sebastian from taking the proper pride in his work—whatever that work might currently be—and perhaps Grell noticed. After all, he couldn't have necessarily expected Sebastian to act as though he was into it. Whatever his personal feelings, Sebastian was a demon of his word, and he had never broken a deal yet, in letter or aesthetic. So after that first round of getting to know each other, Sebastian felt slightly free to experiment, and perhaps there _may_ have been blood involved, and hair pulling, when all was said and done.

"We should do that again," Grell said.

"Of course," Sebastian said.

"I didn't mean now—though do keep going—I meant in the future. Really, if you're ever in need again, feel free to come back to me, as long as you don't—overuse the privilege, you know—it's hard explaining a lost soul to management."

"I understand," Sebastian said. It was, in fact, everything he had hoped for.

Some time after that, Grell groaned and rolled over on the bed, looking at his watch, which read three thirty, and said, "Oh, it's the weekend. I think the night ought to last until the sun comes up, don't you?"

Sebastian could have protested. In fact he should have protested at midnight, when the next day officially began, but he had been somewhat occupied at the time. "Very well."

Grell sighed, and cuddled closer to him, while Sebastian did not repress the urge to roll his eyes.

"What happened to you?" Grell said at last. "Don't feel the need to answer if I'm being too forward."

"What do you mean?" Sebastian turned to face him. The glasses were off—had come off a few hours ago now, not before Grell went down the hall to call his friend, "in case you're getting any ideas"—to what? Murder Grell when the reaper was too nearsighted to fight back? As exciting as that idea might have been, it would have left him stranded in the heart of the reaper's land, with no way how to get out, and exactly the kind of attention he'd been trying to avoid. Still, it never hurt to be careful, he supposed.

Without them, the reaper's eyes were a brilliant electric green under his long false eyelashes, and with his head resting idly on one hand, he looked almost innocent. Sebastian smiled at the irony.

"We all heard the stories. I guess gossip is the one thing that never dies. But… well, the amount of a mess you two made when the kid was human, we all expected you to make a splash, get into some ridiculous kind of trouble. But you just… fell off the map. Have you been in hell this whole time?"

"No," Sebastian said. He cleared his throat. "Actually… we haven't gone back there at all."

"What?" Grell said. He frowned. "You can't be serious. He's never been…?"

"No," Sebastian said shortly. Then, "I'd rather not talk about Ciel Phantomhive right now."

Grell watched him as Sebastian sat up and began trying to find his clothes. "I never thought I'd hear _you_ say _that_ ," he said. "What happened to the obsession?"

Sebastian put on his shirt and began doing up the buttons, but he didn't protest when Grell crawled up next to him and took his hands from the fabric. "Let me," he said, quietly, and began to do them up by feel. For a moment, Sebastian actually couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to help him into his clothes. His butler's aesthetic was so ingrained that the idea seemed faintly ludicrous. He knew it had happened, but everything before he had met _that boy_ might have been to another person entirely.

How long had it been since then? Going on three decades, now. He was unique among the history of demons—save for his master—in having had the longest-running contract to ever exist.

"I wanted his soul," Sebastian said. "That was taken from me." He leaned back against Grell, who curled his arms around him, and to his own disgust, he felt his voice wavering. "What did I do wrong?"

"You were too attached," Grell said frankly. "My own motto is, when they become too much trouble, kill them."

Sebastian chuckled. "I shall sincerely try to avoid becoming too much trouble, then."

"Oh darling, you're always too much trouble," Grell said fondly.

In the end, of course, the reaper had to escort him back into the human realm, and when Sebastian watched the red-clad figure disappear, he was surprised to find that the crushing weight of boredom that had been his only constant companion for so long had slipped away, and he hadn't noticed at all, until it came back.

.

.

.

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 **pairings (for the story as a whole):** Sebastian/Grell; Sebastian & Ciel's Issues; Grell/Will (ambiguous)

 **chapter warnings:**

(1) someone kills a prostitute, and Grell really couldn't care less. We are very surprised.

(2) consensual prostitution (Sebastian/Grell)

(3) implied sex, non-explicit


	2. Enchantment

**2/ Enchantment**

As soon as they returned from hell, Ciel left him once again to the old and solemn house, his curiosity about the war too great. Sebastian watched him drift among the dying, the not-boy sometimes merely watching—sometimes, rarely, casting half-thought spells of comfort and hope, moments of healing in the uncaring drift of the world. He wondered how aware his master was of his own actions—if he remembered, when he re-formed into something with a human shape, the impulses that belied his deepest nature... or if the scattered fragments of his unreachable soul, cast into the air and the ground, infusing everything growing and wild and free, were a mystery to him. The child never gave any indication. When Sebastian looked, Ciel seemed a sculpture, carefully-crafted to mock the person he once had been; every word was measured.

It was almost admirable, the self-delusion with which some creatures were granted.

In this house, he was alone, and the only things that echoed back were his own mocking thoughts.

How low he had fallen.

There were duties to be carried out, still, though his master would not know of their doing; his wishes still remained. The butler was precise and careful, but the job had grown to drudgery in one of those endless, empty spaces of time.

Time—that endless burden. Trapped in a human form, it was even stranger. Every hour had its own uncanny significance. Sebastian wondered what the mortals felt like, looking into the mirror every day, finding that they looked no different, that their thoughts hadn't shaped them into a new image. The body must grow older, for them. But still, the same continuity. The same endless trap beneath the skin.

The war ended.

Ciel was dallying among the soldiers. He found another contract.

Sebastian looked away.

/

When one walked out the door in such old-fashioned clothes, one was noticed. But with the addition of a top hat and glasses that shimmered uncannily in the light, a white, pressed kerchief and sparks that flowed from the hand, no one looked askance. A seeming man, standing on the street, who could transmute anything to its opposite, who could conjure from thin air. He appeared now and again, when Sebastian remembered. When the boredom got too close, the air inside the house pressed thick, suffocating down his throat of flesh. They called him the gentleman, and the humans were willing to be illusioned, ensnared, enraptured for a moment, by something they knew deep inside was magic. He had always enjoyed the applause, the anticipation; that attention without consideration. Being a marvel was much better than being a fool.

He laughed when he found the ground beside him scattered with crumpled bills. He picked them up, took them back to the house. It was never to be used. Neither he nor his master had any use for money. He ironed them carefully flat, separated the coins into piles, numerically; put them all into the drawer beside his bed in the room that Ciel had said was his. There they stayed.

His master had never figured out the knack of dreams. When he lay in his bed, it was always with full awareness, some strange battle against the night, against himself. Well, let him—though it seemed baffling to court such tedium.

Some nights, Sebastian would step outside, walk in quiet with the clicking of his shoes against the ground. The lights that blazoned through the city, freed from its shroud of curfew, were like beacons thrown against the night. The sky looked brighter than black. Outside of those few meagre alleys, in the parts of the city where the young gambled with their life, Sebastian passed. In the crowd, everyone was on their way. It didn't matter where.

Or he would sleep, lying on top of the covers on his bed, every limb straight and unmoving. In that darkness behind his eyes, one could reach dazzling places, if one tried enough. Sometimes it felt like a slow sliding down a muffled staircase, while faces he half-remembered peered at him behind one-way mirrors. Other times it was like exiting the carriage they had once had, and there was the Phantomhive manor, just as it always was, shining in the sun; the servants arrayed with tearful faces, telling him of the mess they'd managed to create in his absence. But he hardly minded.

They might stretch farther back, to when he had had other bodies and other masters, far across the endlessness of the globe and the changing customs and cultures of humans. Time was no object here. There were moments to remember. Sometimes massacres... sometimes the souls he had eaten. Or days of nothing in particular—on the banks of the Nile, watching the boats among the reeds. Cats would peer his way with lazy interest. And they were so beautiful...

Yes, those were the best dreams.

But if one pursued too avidly such a hobby, one was bound to get odd results, once in awhile. There were dreams in which he was in an endless space, with only a red sky for company. Sometimes he was sure that it was hell. Sometimes he was sure that it was earth; perhaps the humans had destroyed it all with their search for devastation. The emptiness went on as far as the eye could see. He could hear nothing, and the nothingness rang. He walked, until the barest hint of dawn awoke him; and when he woke, he could hear the loudness of his breath in the silence, and feel the too-fast thumping of his incarnate heart.

He would not try for sleep again soon, after those nights.

.

.

.


	3. In Which Sebastian Goes On Holiday

**Warnings:** general discussion of WWII, mention of suicides

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 **3/ In Which Sebastian Goes On Holiday**

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 _Now: 1950_

Sebastian knew hunger. He and it were intimately acquainted—they were always in a constant, delicate battle between satiation and starvation. And his calculations were quite accurate, most of the time. He had felt quite sure he could survive another few years before feeling the need to feed again, but as always, his master—infuriatingly predictable, until he wasn't—had turned all those calculations upon their heads. Honestly. Had he even _thought…_? Evidently not. It took some careful questioning to bring the whole story to light, but when it had, he was surprised how much the evidence of Ciel's thoughtlessness in this instance of his newest contract enraged him. From answering to a random summons for a healing of all things, and accepting it out of pity, to keeping the man around after his expiration date (it's not like _you've_ ever done that, of course, an inner voice said. Sebastian ignored it.)

His master's behaviour reflected on him, of course. It galled Sebastian to think Ciel could have been so callow. Hadn't he taught the boy better? Apparently not.

He had not, actually, taught him anything about the finer points of contracting; he had as good as shoved him out the door and told him to figure it out himself. It was incredible any of this had even turned out as well as it did.

And yet that realization, as much as it should have softened his anger, only served to make him angrier yet.

"I'll make sure to promise the next one to you, then." So calm, so matter of fact; as if this wasn't even a problem. Where had that idea been when he'd needed it? It was the epitome of too little, too late: and the backhanded kindness made him bristle. Oh, he had gotten down on his knees and begged already. He didn't need some kind of sympathy now.

And when the Lady Elizabeth died, Ciel left again, citing his reasons as though he had to prove it had nothing to do with her. It had everything to do with her. He had not left her new-completed grave for months, after. It was only when his master, in the guise of a young man, had found his way onto a plane and set off across the pond that Sebastian finally stepped closer, to read the letters and headstone that were all that remained on this earth of the indomitable woman.

His master would not be back for some time. Time to do what was necessary, then. Finding another soul. Waiting for Grell to arrive.

/

The reaper took off that red coat he always wore over his uniform, and tied back his wild hair, down to his shoulders now.

"I shouldn't have cut it," he admitted to Sebastian. "I thought it would be stylish, but really, it was just boring. Sadly, one has to wait for these things to come back, you know?"

"You have all the time in the world to do so, at any rate," Sebastian said, lightly.

Grell chuckled. "It depends on how you look at it," he said. They sat across from each other in the kitchen, full of shining chrome and marble countertops. Outside the windows that covered the whole east wall, the sun of the reaper's land—bright and dazzling and close—refracted itself in countless geometric angles over the city. Grell ate—Sebastian, having already done the dishes, watched him. He felt no particular urge to leave, and Grell seemed to realize that. Grell didn't seem to have any particular urge to see him go.

"I'm surprised, actually," Grell said.

"Hm?" Sebastian had fallen into a reverie, watching the darkened silhouette of the reaper against the windows, the fiery line where the light touched the edge.

"I would have thought Ciel would have realized his mistake before now—," Grell said, taking another bite, and watching Sebastian with something curiously caught between interest and disinterest. "Even if you had to bring it to his attention. I never really thought you'd come back."

"Are you complaining?"

"Of course not," Grell said.

Finally, Sebastian answered. "He did."

"What?" The squawking way the reaper's voice went up in surprise brought a chuckle to Sebastian's throat. He dodged the glare Grell sent him in return, and continued simply.

"...He offered."

"And you said no? Whyever not? Don't tell me you've been realizing the truth of our love at last!" Grell said, drawing out the words until they twirled and staring at Sebastian with an unnerving sparkle in his eyes.

"Nothing of the sort," Sebastian said calmly. "I merely…" he frowned. "The soul he tried to offer me," he said at last, "was hardly better than one I could have gotten on the street. Oh, he cultivated it a little, I'll give him that, but…"

"So you refused because it wasn't up to your standards? Is the fare you're stealing from me any better?" Grell said, tilting his head. He knew it wasn't.

"No," Sebastian said. "But. I am not going to be party to half-hearted attempts to … 'ease his conscience.'"

"It sounds like you're fighting a battle where only one of you know it is," Grell said. "It doesn't sound sustainable."

"It defuses the boredom."

"I'll give you that." Something small and wistful caught the edge of Grell's smile, then—something that was not meant for him. But he didn't hide it, and Sebastian didn't look away.

A moment later, Grell was back to flippancy. "Maybe he's trying to mend his ways," he offered. "Make it up to you."

Sebastian laughed. "I'm sure," he said, ironically. He might have brought up the subject of William in return, but refrained, and the conversation drifted. For the rest of the morning, they watched gialli*—the compromise after Sebastian had flatly refused to watch anything of the romantic comedy persuasion. Grell narrated his favourites with annoying persistence, and accompanying gestures, that reminded one about his never very restrained lust for blood. Sebastian didn't mind. He knew all about bloodlust, and anger; at least it was a welcome respite from the over-sweet flirtation the reaper sometimes favoured him with. Though, to be fair, that had calmed down considerably after they had slept together the one time; whatever game Grell had so loved to play before that seemed to have fallen off into that strange cameradary of two people who have known each other for much too long. It was almost _friendly_. If Sebastian had had the energy to be disgusted, he would have spared it, but instead he just watched the movies and wondered, once again, how humans could be so very complex, and so very hypocritical—such an infinite capability for violence that they tried to hide behind decorum and excuses, and out it came, in these indulgent films, and in more dangerous ways as well. In crimes of passion and madness and bigotry, and wars that never seemed to end.

/

"I wasn't here for most of the war," Grell admitted. "We weren't prepared, you understand—of course we all saw the patterns, the movements, but still—it was hard to really think it would all blow up in such a way, so soon after the last time… Many of us were pressed into service at the front; I volunteered. Where else would I go, if not where the action was? Of course, even if I hadn't, they would have wanted me eventually. Any reaper with any modicum of training was sent back out there. Managerial work was frankly abandoned. You have no idea the amount of paperwork still waiting to be filed; reports that were never written up, that sort of thing. William was in charge of London; doing collections as well as training. From what I can understand it was a headache—I didn't envy him it. Of course, the alternative…" Grell made a face. "There are always new recruits in war; soldiers who think dying at their own hands would be better than being captured, people who have volunteered for suicide missions, people who have lost loved ones, and their home, and don't know what else to do—well, this was something else. The stories that came in… the things that were being done… it was frankly inhuman. We tried to ask our colleagues in Germany if they could make the situation clear but they closed the borders completely; what kind of organization runs with half of its people getting involved in outside affairs, and refusing to report in? Really involved; it just isn't done. But short of storming to headquarters and knocking on their door, what could we do? What they'd done was unprecedented, but we'd just make it worse by pressing the issue. So we said. We had no wish to bring the war up here. But it came anyway… in the flood of newcomers… the stories."

"I've never known you to be disturbed by inhumanity," Sebastian said, "no matter how terrible."

Grell laughed oddly. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment," he said. "It isn't the what so much as the why—there was none. It was madness—that's the only way to explain it. It just swept its way across them, and we tried to pretend it wasn't affecting us too, but… we looked away. We should have pressed harder. What bunch of no-good filth calling themselves reapers casts their lot in with a tyrant like that?"

The why is always clear to the madman, Sebastian thought. He'd had enough experience with that like to know. The why was clear to you, when you went on a killing spree, he thought—no matter the insanity of the act. But that was an issue he knew better than to bring up. Instead, he let Grell talk. The reaper seemed almost desperate to talk, to break out of the stifling confines of regret and confusion.

"This life," Grell said, "it's meant to be our second chance. Our penance. Something. We have to remain above such things."

"Of course," Sebastian murmured, though he was almost choking on the urge to laugh at the irony that Grell seemed so oblivious of.

"When the war finally ended, we all decided enough was enough. We came in. Many of the German reapers had already killed themselves. Many others didn't seem to have any more brains left in them than a bizarre doll. It was a massacre. They threw away their last chance, and for what?"

"Perhaps the guilt was too much for them to bear," Sebastian said, at last.

"I don't know," Grell said. He pulled his knees up to his chest. "I don't understand it," he said, twisting a strand of hair between his fingers as he worried at his lower lip.

"And now that it's over?" Sebastian asked. There was some entertainment yet in the act of hearing how this slow-motion crash had affected even the death-gods themselves. Something about it made him feel satisfied. He'd never believed their protestations that the organization had its hands figuratively clean, all its pieces in order. There were too many individuals involved to be anything such.

"Now… we try to figure out what to do," Grell said with a shrug. "What of reapers who've been in the field since they learned how to use a scythe, but never passed their exams? Do we keep them, or make them go through the whole process? Or just give them extra training, to get them up on protocol? What about the paperwork? It has to be done, of course, but it's all such a mess… and we can't learn much from the German division. Apparently, they stopped keeping written records entirely. Barring a fragment here and there, it's all hearsay and witness testimony. Half of them kept to their oath—or say they did… the other half apparently joined the the Nazi party itself! The courts are overflowing. We don't even know how to handle it; who should even be tried, and for what. Trespassing the death lists, getting involved in record experimentation…and we don't even have _crimes_ for some of the things listed. And what about those who trespassed the death list in saving lives? It's insanity, of course, but next to everything else, it almost looks like heroism. We can't just throw them out with the rest."

"Telling company secrets to a demon?" William said, closing the door behind him as he stepped inside. He was holding his death scythe, and he eyed Sebastian with unconcealed distaste. "Really, Grell. It's indecorous."

"What happened is indecorous," Grell shot back. "I'm talking to a friend who actually wants to listen—don't you, Sebastian?"

"It's no trouble," Sebastian said, after a moment's pause.

William gave him a tired glare.

"Forgive my language, but you look like shit," Sebastian said.

"And you look like hell," Will responded. He sighed, and pressed his glasses up his nose. "Must you keep him here?" he pleaded to Grell.

"It's my own apartment, Will," Grell replied.

"There's paperwork to go over," William said, letting the thick pile of papers in his arms fall with a deadened thump onto the coffee table.

"There's always paperwork. I need a break."

"We have no choice about overtime at the moment," William replied, his high voice strung out almost to its limit. There was a deepening crease between his eyebrows, and he looked as though he had a pounding headache, and would dearly like to put down his scythe—but he kept it trained warily in Sebastian's direction.

"You needn't be worried about me," Sebastian said at last, with over-enunciated courtesy. "I'm bound forever. I'm sure you've heard."

"Hmph," William replied. "And stealing souls off Grell."

"William!" Grell replied, with indignation—never mind that it was true.

"We all must eat somehow," Sebastian returned, calmly.

William glared at him for a moment longer before making his way into the kitchen and rummaging around in the fridge, pulling out an odd assortment of snacks. He looked over at the living room as if he was dearly reconsidering his life's choices before he made his way out and spread everything on the table. He sat down on the carpet across from them and began to eat methodically, his death scythe lying on the ground, still close at hand, and he began flipping through the papers, spreading them out and making terse notes in the margins.

"You really bring the mood down when you're like this," Grell said at last, into the deepening silence.

"You could always join me," William bit back.

"We were watching movies."

William looked over at the slim cases scattered across the floor, where he'd pushed them from the table. "That trash again?"

Grell gave a long-suffering sigh. "Just because _some people_ don't appreciate the entertainment value of the mass media," he said, with the sound of an argument that had been well-tread-over.

"I won't be keeping you," Sebastian said, standing up.

"No… stay," Grell pleaded, standing up and tugging his arms back. "I won't have Will ruining this for us."

William snorted, and Grell sent him a poisonous look.

"If he doesn't want to have fun, we can go somewhere else."

"I don't mean to be trouble," Sebastian replied, "And I do have other things to do."

"No you don't," Grell said.

Sebastian stared back at him, nonplussed.

"Really, it's clear as day. You're bored, I'm bored… tired, but what's the difference. Will, get your head out of your paperwork and come with us. We're going to have some fun," Grell declared, grabbing the papers away from William, who protested indignantly at the black line his pen made across the sheet as it was yanked from his hands. Then Grell's words seemed to hit him.

"Us?" Sebastian asked, at the same time as the bewildered reaper. They sent each other annoyed looks at their synchronicity, while Grell giggled, suddenly carefree. "Yes, us—you heard me. We all like boats, don't we? Quiet lakes? Greenery? Good." He grabbed the bunch of snacks from the table, pulled a bag from somewhere nearby, and started to dash madly about the house.

Will stood up, and sighed. Sebastian gave him a look of silent agreement. They were certainly in for it now.

One might wonder at the depths boredom would make one stoop to. Sebastian had certainly never imagined this.

There was a boat, all right. It had sprung various leaks in it, when the sporadic arguments that cropped up between the three—over the proper way to steer, or which way to go, or whose turn it was to do so—turned into scuffles—but they had patched it up all right, and it rode fairly well in the water, if one of them took a bucket to the insides every now and then to bail out the water that had slowly reached to pool around their feet.

"I think I'd have had a better time doing paperwork," William commented dolefully. His scythe was propped awkwardly next to him, though he might have shrunk the size—he'd muttered something about _being ready_. He was sitting on one of the covered seats, and trying to keep his feet out of the water. He'd already finished off most of the snacks Grell had packed. The rest had gotten wet, but Grell didn't seem to mind all that much.

"It's nature, it's calming," Grell returned. "I definitely heard that somewhere."

"I think you'd die if it were too calm," Will replied.

Sebastian snickered. Grell looked at him as though he wasn't sure whether he ought to be offended or not, then laughed. "So you're right. Still, this is nice, isn't it?"

"It's certainly… interesting," Sebastian allowed.

" _Thank_ you, love," Grell replied. "See, someone's on my side!" He didn't seem to notice the way William's brow twitched at the casual endearment, though whether Will wanted to murder Grell or Sebastian more was hard to guess.

Sebastian still wasn't certain if this whole thing hadn't been set up for no other reason than to make Will jealous, but if so, Grell was doing an admirable job of hiding his motivations—and perhaps, after all, it was working. Sebastian, at least, found every glimpse of the reaper land fascinating. The lake they had gone to was a clear, flawless blue that reflected the dazzling color of the sky and the shining, midday sun. The fish that swam in the waters were ones that hadn't been seen on Earth for millenium; some were large and ponderous, others had strange, unformed eyes. He wondered how they had gotten there, and why evolution had been so slow to catch up. Had the reaper's land actually once been part of Earth?

Neither Grell nor William seemed to know the answer.

"He's a spy from hell, just as I told you," William said; by this point he had progressed to lying atop the cushions and putting the bag that had once held their snacks over his head, to shield it from the sun. He was holding his scythe, but didn't seem much inclined to use it; rather, he'd certainly dozed off for at least a half-hour. Miraculously, Grell had been quiet so as not to wake him—at least moderately so. They had made out sitting in the other end of the boat, only taking occasional breaks to dump another bucket of water back into the lake. It had passed the time quite well—and something about the combination of schoolgirl giggles and a very sharp, deadly smile had almost made Sebastian amused.

"Why would hell want to know about the fish?" Grell said.

"Why does hell want to know anything?" Will replied. He poked his head out from under the bag as he sat up, his hair sticking up in all directions. Grell leaned forward to smooth it down for him as William pushed the bag away and found another occasion to stare darkly at Sebastian, as though the reaper now sitting on his lap was the demon's fault. _Well, you take him,_ the look seemed to say. But Sebastian was certainly not going to be touching that can of worms with a ten-foot death scythe. He leaned back, and the water inside the boat gave a quiet splash. It had really gotten a bit higher, despite their best efforts; but they'd definitely make it to shore in one piece, unless Grell insisted on another detour.

They didn't make it to shore in one piece. Grell continued to claim that last detour was really worth it, something about red roses and love and thorns, but by that time his soaked companions, trying awkwardly to dry off in the sun when none of them would take off their thick wet suits—except for Grell, and wasn't that a sight—were not really listening any longer. Sebastian had shown some proficiency in starting a fire, which had William comment in a dry tone that this was obviously just what a fiend would be good at.

Well, starting fires had always been a specialty of Sebastian's; he saw no reason to take offense there. He saw no reason to take offense at anything Will said, when the alternative had the reaper grinding his teeth more and more. It seemed to personally offend him that Sebastian persisted in being unfailingly polite and didn't go on a murderous rampage, as he obviously expected any demon to do at a moment's notice.

"Speaking of your master—" Will said, (they hadn't been) "Does he know what you spend your time doing these days?"

"I'm sure he doesn't know what you mean," Grell said. He'd put his shirt back on at some point, but insisted that his trousers were still wet. Most probably they were, but that was really no excuse. "Don't pester him."

"It's an honest question," Will said, in a glacial voice. Grell poked at the fire with one toe, and squealed when sparks went spiralling upward, bringing his foot back with amazing speed. Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"I think his exact words were 'go off and do whatever it is you do for fun'," Sebastian said.

"Really," Will replied. "How uncouth. I shall certainly never understand the pair of you."

Grell had poked his finger into the fire, and laughed at the flames licking up his hand, before pulling it back. Reapers didn't seem to be as easily burned as humans, but they were not immune to the effects of the flame, and his hand had gone slightly red. It did not seem to deter him, however—in another moment his hand was creeping forward again, as though the fire had offered a personal challenge. Sebastian wondered how deep one's idiocy could go—but then, Grell had never hid the fact that he had a death-wish.

It would take a bit of walking to get back to the bus stop from here, as their boat had sunk almost two [fathoms]'s off the wrong part of the coast, but where they were, surrounded by trees on one side and the shore on the other, sitting on the muddy strip of sand in between, it seemed much farther. Sebastian watched the sun's progression in the sky and wondered if he ought to insist they head back soon. His sense of time-management nagged at him, and his butler's aesthetics were off in a corner somewhere, wailing that having _time off_ excused nothing in the exacting nature of appearances being maintained and work that had to be done. But he could still vaguely sense that his young master was in that American contract of his, and while that was going on, he wouldn't be wanting anything from Sebastian. There was no reason to hurry.

* * *

Notes:

 *** "** **a 20th-century Italian thriller or horror genre of literature and film. ...Giallo films are generally characterized as gruesome murder-mystery thrillers, that combine the suspense elements of detective fiction with scenes of shocking horror, featuring excessive bloodletting, stylish camerawork and often jarring musical arrangements. The archetypal** _ **giallo**_ **plot involves a mysterious, black-gloved psychopathic killer who stalks and butchers a series of beautiful women." (Wikipedia)** **wiki/Giallo** **]**

 _ **(It's an anachronism to have Grell and Sebastian watch this, as the genre happened a decade later; but the reapers always seem to be a little ahead of the times…)**_

 _ **-**_ **Though Grell only mentions Germany in particular, and the focus stays very general here, a lot of his discussion about the reapers' experience of WWII, and the tone of it, is inspired by Hannah Arendt's "Eichmann in Jerusalem" - specifically the chapters that give an overview of what happened in different countries during the holocaust and how they fought or were complicit in what happened to varying degrees and in complicated ways.**

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	4. Skirmish

_**4/ Skirmish**_

* * *

Sebastian did not know the time. His pocket-watch, unerringly accurate, read five in the evening, but that watch was set to time in London, and this was far from London. Whatever time it was, it was late enough that the one and a half moons had risen into the sky. The full moon cast a faded light over the bare, scuffed dirt, while the half moon seemed to sulk away. It was a fancy, but then, one would be hard-pressed not to give into fancies when one had to listen to such caterwauling for so long.

They had made it through the wood with a fair amount of speed and gotten to the bus stop in one piece, which was perhaps miracle enough. Of course, that was when, after sitting on the lone bench under the half-hearted glass partition, Will read, in a flat voice, the sign that had been taped to the glass. Because it was off-season, the buses stopped at dusk. Grell had never been off-season. Will had never been at all. This didn't stop William from announcing that this whole fiasco was Grell's fault, and beating Grell over the head with his death scythe. Evidently, Grell brought out the anger in the other reaper—not that that was particularly hard to do.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Grell said. "Oh Will, hit me again!"

William frowned, and stopped hitting Grell, though his hands were still clenched around his death scythe. Grell gave him a disappointed look and flounced off to the bench to sit next to Sebastian.

"I will have more overtime for this," William said, for the umpteenth time. He stared off into the distance.

"We might walk back," Sebastian suggested. He certainly didn't want to sit here all night, and neither reaper seemed inclined to think of an alternative.

"It will take longer to walk back than to wait here for the bus," Will retorted.

"Grell, what do you think?" Sebastian said. It was a toss-up which way Grell would answer… or perhaps not. The reaper was already fidgeting.

"All right," Grell said. "This place is a dump, anyway," he announced. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to come so far from civilization." He got up and began walking down the road, Sebastian right behind. After a moment, William followed.

Despite those brave words, it was Grell who complained first, saying that his feet were aching.

"If you didn't wear heels, you wouldn't have that problem," Will retorted.

"If the ground wasn't so uneven, I wouldn't have this problem!" Grell said. Still, Grell lead the way, going faster than anyone with aching feet should rightfully go. The road was blank in the darkness, and Sebastian considered that visibility might be poorer for the reapers than for himself, glasses or no. For him, the darkness was no obstacle. He could see every inch of fields around them as though it were lit by daylight, and there was quite a bit of field to see, stretching out toward the horizon. He tried to remember how many teleportation-junctions the bus had gone through to get here. Five, perhaps. At least two of them were in small towns that hardly deserved the name.

Back and forth went the little squabbles. Back and forth, until Sebastian's nerves were so grated he was just considering which reaper he ought to strangle first. Grell, perhaps. Then he could murder William properly. The other reaper certainly wouldn't make half as much noise. Ah, what he would give to be in his own house right now… one of the stray cats that came to his door in his hands… that pleasant reverie was broken by a particularly loud screech from Grell.

"How could it get any worse?" Whatever the reapers had been discussing, it had stopped the whole procession in its tracks; Grell stood in the middle of the road, his arms crossed, and glared at William.

"I suppose it could rain," Sebastian said, frowning as he was dragged back into unwelcome reality. As if in answer to his cue, thunder rumbled in the distance.

"You arranged this!" William said, turning on Sebastian.

"How could I arrange the weather in your own world?" Sebastian replied, bemused.

"I don't know, but I'll be making a report on it when we get back," William vowed. "And I shall certainly mention your interest in those fish as well!"

Sebastian laughed.

William's death scythe shot forward without warning, and Sebastian leaped back only in time to get out of reach, still grinning.

"Your kind, always slinking around with evil intent, causing trouble, disorder, more paperwork—" William could hardly go on. "You revolt me!"

Sebastian let his eyes flash red, though he answered without raising his voice. "The feeling is certainly mutual."

William dashed forward, scythe outstretched, and Sebastian leaned out of the way and then, quite slowly, pulled off his gloves and put them in his pocket so they wouldn't get soiled. This was going to be fun.

/

It took perhaps all of ten minutes for the warnings of thunder to turn to a steady, freezing downpour. Sebastian was bleeding in two places on his arm, William had a steady stream of blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. Only Grell had managed to remain unscathed, though he had joined the brawl with abandon, only murmuring that it was a shame he hadn't brought his death scythe with him—only the small scissors he'd kept from when his scythe had been revoked, and which he'd apparently grown to have a fondness for. It was the scissors that had cut Sebastian, and Grell's teeth had shown in a grin like a shark at the sight of blood. After a few moments in the rain, however, Grell pulled out of the fight, exclaiming about the mud, and for a moment the three stood around, no one the first to re-engage until the moment had become awkward. At some unspoken cue, they were no longer fighting, but instead staring dourly into the sky in matched disapproval.

The rain didn't let up.

"Well," William said at last.

They began walking back down the road. The trees, and any shelter they may have provided, had been left behind long ago, and only the fields, wet and drooping, remained. Sebastian took a surreptitious glance at his pocket-watch. It now said eight-oh-two in the evening. The wounds from Grell's scythe-scissors didn't heal in a mere instant's thought like an ordinary cut would; they had stopped bleeding but still stung, the blood clotted sluggishly around the gashes. William pulled his glasses down his nose and dabbed hesitantly at the blood on his forehead with the hem of his jacket, his mouth twisting. By the time the clock read eight thirty they still hadn't found shelter; their clothes were soaked through and Grell was scowling with his hair in his face, looking pathetically miserable. In the far distance Sebastian noticed something that wasn't yet more empty fields. For a moment, it was only a speck on the horizon. The speck grew, took on a familiar growl, and resolved itself into a pickup truck heading their way. A moment later the reapers seemed to spot it and the three stood in the middle of the road, waiting while the truck drove up to them and then stopped.

"Is something the matter?" The reaper in the truck spoke with a clipped voice. Despite the truck, the suit the reaper wore was pristine and regulation, and the woman peered down at the group doubtfully from behind square silver spectacles that glittered like gemstones in the dark. Her cropped hair was a shock of white-blonde. When her eyes fell on Sebastian, they widened. She coughed, drawing herself back into her seat as though to put that little further amount of space between them, and one of her hands reached down to the empty seat beside her to heft a wood-handled weed-whip—obviously her death-scythe.

"Gentlemen," she said. "I'm certain you must be aware that one of your companions is a demon. I'm also certain that you must be aware of Section 284 paragraph 97 in the Reaper's Rules and Regulations that such creatures are prohibited from this world except if under armed escort on the way to trial?"

William blushed, looking down at his feet and muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Grell coughed delicately.

"I am under escort," Sebastian said, helpfully. "These two reapers are my escort. As you can see, there was quite a battle bringing me in—wasn't there?"

"Oh, oh yes," Grell said, putting one arm around Sebastian in a way that was somewhat too familiar. The woman in the truck raised her eyebrows as Grell pulled out one of his scissors. "I even wounded him, see?"

William sighed. "Paragraph 99.b states that under certain circumstances a member of management can take temporary custody of a demon found in their jurisdiction, regardless of a registered trial." He took a photo ID from an inside pocket and showed it to the other reaper. She read it, squinting in the dim light, and then gave a longer, slightly suspicious look at the three of them.

"Spears… London division. That would explain it," she said, in a tone of hardly-hidden disdain. Sebastian could just hear her murmur under her breath, "crazy, the lot of them." Evidently the London division was somewhat infamous.

William stood even more stiffly, if that were possible, as he slid the ID back in his pocket. The truck engine growled with harried quickness while the windows splashed rain.

"You don't think we might be able to catch a ride with her?" Grell said, slightly too loudly.

"There's no need," Will said, with dignity. "Thank you, miss." He gave a polite nod in the reaper's direction and began to stride past the idling truck. Sebastian followed, with Grell behind him, poking exaggeratedly at his back with both red-handled scissors. At last the truck started up again. It was no longer going the other way, however. The truck made a U-turn in the road and drove up beside them.

"Perhaps I should offer you a ride," she said. "Just to make sure you get to where you're going on time, you understand," she added, with a meaningful look in William's direction. His lips pinched flatly together.

"How very kind of you," he said.

They got in the truck. With only one spare seat, William took the seat next to the driver while Grell sat half on top of him. Sebastian was left to crouch awkwardly on the floor of the pickup, his head much too near Grell's swinging feet for his own comfort. The lack of rain was a nice change, at any rate.

The truck drove on, Grell yelping when they hit a pot-hole and wrapping his arms around William's neck. William stared straight ahead without reaction, though the reaper beside them sent darting glances their way, a furrow between her brows. She turned on the radio, changing the station quickly from the news with an uncomfortable glance at Sebastian to some quiet, classical station. Grell sighed deeply. "Don't you have any hard rock, my dear?" he said to her.

Sebastian wondered what that was. He would have to ask Grell, when they were in less of a precarious position.

"So," the woman said. "You took _that_ in in London? I didn't know there were still demons roaming free there."

"Yes," William said.

"I've never known managerial to get involved with collections."

"You might call it a hobby," William said blandly. Grell snickered. "What's your assignment?" William continued.

"Training, sometimes. I'm also sent to double check official stories, catch rogue reapers, that sort of thing."

"Ah," William replied.

"We have a very efficient system in Switzerland," the reaper continued.

"Of course," William said. "I have an utmost respect for the organization and punctuality of your division."

"Hm," the reaper answered. She seemed somewhat mollified, but she still did not give her name—none of them had, either, except William, by virtue of the name on his ID.

The rest of the ride might have passed in the same awkward silence except that at nine forty-five by Sebastian's still inaccurate watch, Grell finally announced that he was uncomfortable sitting on top of Will and wanted to switch places.

"I am not sitting on your lap," William said. "I would rather sit on the floor."

"All right, Bassy can sit on my lap then and you can sit on the floor," Grell said.

William frowned.

"Fine," he said at last. Neither of them had asked Sebastian what he thought of this decision, but he was getting immensely tired of sitting crunched on the floor as he was. It almost made the alternative bearable. Almost—but not quite. He couldn't think of a way to protest without calling more attention to their unorthodox group, though; the Swiss reaper was already tense enough, and her hand kept creeping to her scythe. A fight inside a closed and moving truck with three reapers was not the wisest idea. So they shuffled around, hitting each other's elbows in each other's faces (sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose) and had finally gotten almost settled again when their driver finally stopped worrying her mouth and said, "I don't believe your story, gentlemen."

"It's true," Grell snapped. The way he was snuggling up against Sebastian might have made that less than convincing. William looked like he was already regretting changing seats. He'd managed to keep Grell quiet enough, but the other reaper had a short fuse at the best of times. "And I don't know why it would be your business, even if it wasn't, especially after casting such aspersions on our division."

"Grell," William said, warningly.

"Be quiet, I'm defending you," Grell said.

The Swiss reaper's hands had tightened around the steering wheel.

"—And anyway it's not like she could do anything about us."

A death scythe hovering at Sebastian's neck, a moment later, gave the lie to that.

"...Oops?" Grell said.

"Do you know what I think?" the reaper said, watching them. "I think the two of you are _acquaintances_ with it. I think you're unprincipled cowards at best, and traitors at worst. I didn't want to say it, but that's what I think. We've all heard the stories about _your division_. You've been going down the drain for centuries… a disorganized group of maniacs…I may not be able to do anything _officially_ against you, but don't think I'll be pushed around."

"Do not mistake lack of funding for lack of principles," William said. He reached out and, very calmly, took hold of the end of her scythe at the handle, staring into her eyes. "We're all very tired, and we appreciate your kindness in giving us a lift."

Sebastian's mouth fell open in utter shock. He had to say, he'd never expected William to be even remotely capable of diplomacy.

By ten on the dot they had driven into a strip of buildings set around a central records office, where their driver stopped to get gas. The sun had just risen, the rain had stopped, and the quiet hush of morning was lying around them.

They tumbled out of the car the moment their reaper guard had gone inside to pay.

"That bitch," Grell said.

William sighed. "I might say the same about you."

Grell smiled darkly back at him as he took out one of his scythe-scissors from his sleeve and snipped through the truck's front tyre. "I'm not staying in that truck for seven more hours," he announced.

William turned faintly green, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. The next moment, he let his death scythe expand, poking its clippered end through the back tyre. Sebastian went casually around to the other side and slashed the other two. Both reapers pretended not to notice. They set off down the road again.

"You can't say it doesn't bother you," Grell said. "The way the other reapers piss all over our division."

"She didn't say anything that wasn't true," William said, woodenly.

"William!" Grell said. "Where's your self respect?"

William stared off into the middle distance. "I don't know," he said, tiredly. "I really don't know. Things have gotten so complicated lately. There's not enough paperwork to solve everything. Once upon a time, I thought that if you just did your job and minded your own business everything would turn out as it was meant to."

The town was fast disappearing behind them. Sebastian fancied he could hear the Swiss reaper's scream of outrage as she discovered the state of her tyres.

"There were multiple inquests, you understand," William continued, though who he was speaking to were unclear. "To find out where hell's hand was in the war. There had been a handful of deals made. None with any of the major players. Some demons preying on the situation for an easy meal or a chance to make trouble, but… it wasn't organized by Them."

"I know," Sebastian said. "We went down there for a time. The bombings got a bit much even for us."

Around them, the fields stretched out, endless rows of corn and soy with rows of straggling trees in between.

No one said another word for the next five hours of walking. The clock read three, and it was almost noon.

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	5. Stalemate

**Stalemate**

* * *

They rested in a barn in the afternoon. The reapers needed to sleep at some point. William volunteered to take first watch, saying he was less tired. Grell fell asleep, as still as a corpse, not a minute after flopping down on a pile of hay in the loft where the three were gathered, so that left William and Sebastian regarding each other warily.

"I don't like you, you understand," William said, glancing out across the barn.

"I think you've made that clear, yes," Sebastian replied.

"I can't help but wonder what assurance it is that you're still under contract when your master is now a demon as well."

"Ciel has no interest in getting involved in other's affairs," Sebastian said. He was surprised how coldly the words had come out. William looked back over at him.

"...What?" Sebastian said.

"I don't think I've ever heard you refer to him by his given name before," William said at last.

Sebastian made no reaction. It wasn't the first time, of course—he would never call his young master anything but his proper title to his face, but among other demons and acquaintances those formalities were dropped. What disturbed him more than the fact that he'd said his master's name in front of William T. Spears, reaper, erstwhile enemy and—he shuddered to think that he might be an acquaintance—was the fact that he hadn't consciously been aware of _choosing_ to say it. Had his respect for the young master gone down so much that he no longer considered him in those words in the privacy of his own thoughts?

It only took a moment of casting his mind back to realize that it had. It distressed him, for some reason. It felt wrong.

At one point, he would never have dreamed of giving that child anything but the highest courtesy. Of course, that was before the contract had become permanent; before Sebastian had become Sebastian the butler, and was still only the demon whose job it was to play the butler Sebastian. That being was different than him. There was an ever-present echo of it casting its way through him like a shadow, but he was that no longer.

Second watch came, and William woke up Grell.

"Goodnight, Sebastian," he said, before he lay down, death-scythe in hand.

"Goodnight, William," Sebastian replied.

"Were you two talking?" Grell said.

"No," Sebastian said. "Not really."

He lay back against the hay, and wrapped his fingers around the chain of his pocket-watch, as though to draw it out. He didn't.

"I'm sorry about this," Grell said.

"About what?"

"I wanted to cheer us all up with a holiday, but I don't think it's worked."

Sebastian cracked a half-smile. "It was a diversion," he said.

"We didn't even get a proper death-match because of the rain," Grell continued, with a deep sigh.

The light that made its slow way through the cracks was a more golden orange than it had once been. Sebastian pulled out his pocket-watch, and stopped at the sight of his face in the reflective surface. Still the same. It had almost stopped being a surprise.

"What's wrong?" Grell said. He looked where Sebastian was glancing, and somehow seemed to realize that it wasn't the inaccurate time that had caught Sebastian for that instant. "Your reflection?"

Sebastian chuckled, and didn't answer. He put the pocket-watch away, as though to prove that he could. He had not always been so obsessed with time, he thought; a long time ago, when he had been different. In hell, there was no concept. It had had been such a novelty, to find that things moved at a constant pace on earth.

"That's always what happens when you look in a mirror," Grell said. "...I think. Maybe it's not like that for everyone. Or maybe they're just lying about it. You look, and you notice everything that's wrong, and it just makes you want to change something…"

"By any means necessary," Sebastian said.

"Yes," Grell said. "Why haven't you killed Ciel?"

"That's an inappropriate question to ask someone."

"I've always heard that free demons had no form at all."

"That's correct, I suppose," Sebastian said. "But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like you have every form. Anything you wish to be is yours, at the merest thought."

"You miss it." It wasn't a question. The wistfulness had infused Sebastian's voice too clearly for it to be that. "Then why? You care about him?"

"Sebastian does," he said. He stared up at the particles of hay floating aimlessly through the light. "I am Sebastian. I can't be anything but."

"Now, that's just going around in circles," Grell said.

Sebastian closed his eyes. "I'm going to go to sleep," he said. He wondered if he would wake up, or if Grell would take his unspoken invitation; take those scissors and draw it across his throat of flesh while he slept.

He went down past the layer of dreams, into that dark place where nothing was.

When he awoke, the sun had gone down; the two reapers were sitting in the corner of the loft, talking quietly with each other.

"Oh good," William said, looking over. "You're up."

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	6. Truce

**6/ Truce**

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The terminal let out into the middle of the city. With the number or reapers rushing to and fro to catch their scheduled trains, none of them could spare a moment to realize that one of the odd group that walked briskly toward the exit was a demon. Perhaps the baseball cap pulled low over Sebastian's face helped with that; or maybe it was the thick plastic glasses.

It was probably the glasses.

"All right," William said, looking up at the arrival and departure screens. "We have exactly two minutes to get to our next terminal. Grell—what are you doing?!"

"Just a second," Grell said, turning slightly, his phone held out in front of him as he dragged one arm around Sebastian. "I'm taking a selfie!"

William closed his eyes and sighed. "One minute and fifty-three seconds," he continued.

"I can make it in a minute and thirty seconds," Grell said, smiling as he took another photo.

"So you say," William muttered.

They did manage it; barely. By the time the three had made their way into Grell's flat (William muttering about the detour, although he was the one that had left his paperwork there) the sun had turned to a blazing glimmer of red on the horizon. Everything in the flat was cast into brightness with pools of black at its feet.

Grell went into another room to change, hanging his coat up in the hall. William knelt down, picking up his paperwork and frowning at it with what seemed like deep suspicion, brushing crumbs off it as he put the pages in their proper order. He took out a pen and began to mark them up, sighing. "I don't know how I will explain this," he said. "Almost a full day late."

"I thought that was all the backlog?" Grell said, buttoning a pinstripe blouse as he re-entered the room, before flopping down on the couch with a groan and waving a hand for William to give him part of the stack.

"It is," William said.

"...So? They haven't even set a schedule for that, yet."

" _I_ set a schedule," William retorted. "And I plan to be done with everything our department will be liable for by the time the year is out."

"You should invite me to the New Years party," Grell said, flourishing a red pen.

"Every employee gets an invitation," William said. "Even you, Sutcliff."

Grell rolled his eyes. "As a date, Will!"

William opened his mouth to retort, then stopped, a look in his eyes that Sebastian couldn't quite place, it looked so strange on the reaper's face. Mischief? "Well, I was considering inviting whomever managed to complete the largest amount of backlog paperwork. As a benefit, you see."

"Ooh!" Grell said, stabbing his pen down as he wrote. "You're so cruel, Will! You would make me slave away so! And for a 'maybe,' nonetheless!"

"I trust your enthusiasm," Will murmured drily.

Grell looked up to see Sebastian standing beside the couch, watching them.

"Bassy dear, feel free to speak up whenever you want to go. Or stay—I really don't mind."

"I think I will go," Sebastian said. He didn't quite fancy hanging around while nothing more interesting than paperwork was going on, and he could tell that the two reapers were settling down into an uncomfortably domestic rhythm that made him feel both annoyed and wistful. At any rate, he couldn't stay here forever—and heaven forbid if he'd _wanted_ to, even for a moment.

"All right," Grell said, going into the hall to put on his shoes and coat. William stood up as well, and he stared at Sebastian, while they listened to Grell rummage around in the closet for what felt like much more time than necessary.

"It wasn't a pleasure," William said.

"Of course," Sebastian said. They paused, awkwardly. At last, William held out a hand.

"I don't suppose I shall ever be possessed of the good fortune of never seeing you again," he said. Sebastian looked down at his hand for a moment, honestly surprised, before he collected himself and shook it, politely. William flinched, an expression of pure revulsion on his face, and wiped his hand on his jacket the moment Sebastian let go.

"All right!" Grell said, flouncing back into the room, now with his coat and a pair of sparkling heels. "Are you ready?"

"Quite," Sebastian said, and took Grell's arm.

/

* * *

The End

* * *

Notes: The story will continue in "Dogwood and Chestnut", when Ciel finally comes back to America and decides to give Sebastian his gift... (see link in profile :)

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